Visits from the Wild
Night gives over to light when our rabbit arrives on the patio. We know he’s our rabbit because of the notched ear, the lame hind leg. No hurry hopping to the bowl of wild rabbit kibble poured for him between visits. He’s feral, yes, ears on alert. But accustomed to us. A streak of tame in him, he doesn’t startle to our voices. We watch him from the kitchen door.
cars rev along Unser
I whisper stay
Our rabbit nibbles briefly, then turns to his water bowl, a double bowl left over from the time of two cats. He shares water with doves and finches who converge around the bird feeder. He sips, wiggles his nose, sips again, returns to his kibble, puts his forepaws onto the edge of the bowl and tips it.
a flutter in the pine tree raptor wings